Captive Soul (27 page)

On dirt instead of stone.

The air changed so abruptly Camille felt it like thunder in her belly, beating out her breath. She stopped spinning so fast she almost fell on her face, and when her hands touched the wall in front of her, she froze stock-still with absolute shock.

She wasn’t in the townhouse gym in New York City anymore.

She knew exactly where she was, only she couldn’t let herself believe it.

I know this place
, her rational mind insisted.
I know every stone in this castle, better than I know my own reflection
.

She was in Motherhouse Ireland. She was down in the tunnels, in the exact spot where she had been standing the day she met Ona.

Oh. My. Goddess
.

Her heart lurched into her throat and she covered her mouth to keep from screaming.

Energy radiated away from her and dissipated in the elemental protections coating every inch of the Motherhouse, and Camille felt the castle’s immense bulk looming above her, a sentinel, a soldier in its own right. As her own energy cleared, she felt something fractured and tenuous coming from behind her, deeper in the tunnels, down in the dark.

When she was a child, the energy had terrified her, but now she knew it. She couldn’t say she understood it, but she at least knew what to call it.

“Ona,” she said, but her only answer was soft, broken sobs.

Camille dusted her hands off on her jeans, still dizzy from where she was and how she’d gotten here, but she pulled herself together as fast as she could and headed into the blackness to find the person she’d come to talk to.

Ona was huddled on a cot in a room at the end of a hallway Camille had rarely traversed. A single candle lit the room, which smelled faintly of sage and the fresh bowl of stew Ona hadn’t touched. Camille glanced at the room’s rough ceiling, thinking of the adepts and Mothers above. Somebody was looking after Ona, just as they always looked after the infirm. She was one of the broken, but no, not really forgotten. Just tended to and left to find her own way back if she could.

When Camille saw Ona as she was, tiny and fetal, a rough woolen blanket pulled up so high only the top of her bald head peeked out, she was struck by memories of herself. She’d been in much the same shape after Bette and Alisa died. She had come back to the castle, to an old nun’s cell just like this, and she’d done much of what Ona was doing. She had checked out. She had stayed checked out until Bela came to get her—but Camille didn’t have any illusions that she could just reach out and claim Ona the way Bela had claimed her.

This woman was well and truly damaged.

Camille’s heart hurt. She approached the cot quietly and settled on her knees beside it.

“I’m here,” she told Ona in a soft voice, so she wouldn’t startle her. “I came the way you taught me. Thank you.”

Ona kept her face turned to the wall and didn’t respond except with a strangled, shuddering sob.

Camille reached out and stroked her head, so aged that even the scars had gone smooth.

“Don’t touch me,” Ona rasped, though she didn’t pull away. “You—you don’t know what I’ve done.”

“Tell me,” Camille urged.

But Ona just cried and cried, and Camille sensed that her presence was disrupting whatever fragment of peace Ona had managed to claim since she fled the brownstone. She could feel Ona’s fragility, feel her instability deep, deep inside, and she knew it all too well.

This is me
, Camille thought.
If I don’t learn, if I don’t understand, if I start running away from what hurts me again, this is me
. She caressed Ona’s head a little longer, wishing she had something to give her to help her, but coming up empty.
This is my future if I don’t change it
.

“It’s okay,” Camille whispered, understanding at last that whatever answers awaited her, Ona likely wouldn’t be supplying them. She had given Camille her gifts in what she’d already taught her and shown her, and she was finished; Camille had to let that be enough or hurt the old woman even more. “I won’t ask you any more questions. If you ever want to come see me again—if you want to talk, or stay with me, or just be there—you’re always welcome.”

Ona pulled away from her, and Camille let her go. For a while, she just sat in the room saying nothing, hoping her presence made a difference.

(
 28 
)

Sometime later, Camille walked back to the place where she’d come into the Motherhouse, and this time it only took her a few spins to work up the state of mind, the right energy, and the right imagery to get herself home. She even stepped into the gym instead of falling in, and this time she didn’t freak and almost start screaming.

Until she saw the big guy standing with his back to her, about two feet away.

Camille slammed her hand over her mouth, but about that fast she realized it was John, come hunting for her since she hadn’t made it back to the meeting. His attention was riveted by the shoes she’d left behind when she took her little unscheduled transcontinental flight.

“Hey,” she said. “Looking for me?”

He turned, his face going slack with surprise when he saw her. Camille let him fill her senses because he looked so good and smelled so good, and she knew when she touched him that all the jumbled thoughts and emotions she couldn’t settle would ease—at least until she let him go. She could tell he wanted to talk, but she had to kiss him first, and once she had kissed him, she wouldn’t want to talk at all.

John read her, understood without asking, and his arms took her in and shut her off from all the craziness outside the two of them. His lips moved on hers, gentle and demanding, yet giving—how could such a rough man feel so soft? Her whole being responded to him, tensing in all the right ways. He tasted hot and male with a whisper of mint, and she didn’t want anything else in the world but more of that, more of him, more of them together.

I want him inside me. I want him deep, and I don’t want him to stop
.

The image was so stark and consuming she had to pull away for a breath, and she saw that his chest was heaving. So was hers. He studied her like he was counting freckles and making a chart, then like he was trying to find exactly the right words for what he wanted to say, or the exact route to her heart and the way to make it his forever.

“I’ve been thinking, beautiful, about what you asked me.” He touched her face, keeping the distance between them even though she felt like he was sharing half her soul already. “About after. After this is over.”

Camille’s belly did a little flip. “Yeah?”

His fingers traced her cheek, from eye to chin and back again, sending delicious shocks all over her body.

“I don’t have a lot of answers yet, but whatever after looks like, I want you in it.”

Camille let that rush through her like prairie fire, warming all the dark corners inside her. She didn’t say yes and she didn’t say no, because she couldn’t talk, but she could smile at him, and that seemed to be enough for the moment.

“Did I say too much?” he asked, sounding careful and earnest, not like he was about to pull away from her or act wounded.

“No,” she whispered, loving the feel of his fingertips stroking her face. Her eyelids fluttered closed from the sensation, but she knew he was waiting for the rest of the answer, so she tried to give it to him.

“I … just want there to be an after.” Tears suddenly rushed into her eyes, and she couldn’t stop them. “John, I’m so stupid—I don’t just want an after, I want
happily
ever after, for us, for all the people we love.”

“It can happen.” He kissed her like he was trying to convince her, and if anyone could make her believe, this was the man.

She raised her fingers to his chin, then slid them between their mouths so she could talk. “We both know how war works, John.”

He pulled away a few inches and gave her an even deeper look. His voice dropped impossibly lower, getting impossibly sexier. “Happily ever after
can
happen.”

His lips took hers again, cutting off her arguments, cutting off her worries. The world swirled away from her and she let it go, back to wanting nothing but him inside her, nothing but him for hours.

It was hard, but she let him turn her loose, and she waited while he locked the gym door and pulled over two thick mats for them to use.

It was a lot easier to let him undress her slow and easy, sliding her jeans over her hips, then hooking his fingers in her underwear and getting rid of them, too, all the while kissing her and telling her she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.

He raised her sweater over her head and discarded it, then stroked her sides until he brought chills across every inch of her body. “I could look at you for days,” he murmured, kissing the hollow between her neck and chest as he unfastened her bra and finally, finally, she was naked, nothing on her body except the dinar. Excitement coursed through her, heating her like liquid fire, and she wanted his hands and mouth everywhere at the same time. Could there ever be anything more erotic than standing in the wide, cool basement, totally vulnerable to anything John wanted to do?

And he wasn’t even undressed yet.

She rubbed herself against his jeans and sweatshirt, letting the rough fabric tease her breasts, her belly, her thighs as he cupped her ass and pulled her closer, kissing her with his entire body. When the coin around her neck made contact with him, it vibrated. She met his tongue, groaning already, knowing she had to have him soon or the want would kill her.

“I could touch you for days,” he whispered. “Weeks.”

Camille got more warm shivers from his edgy tone. She leaned back into his grip just enough to run her hands over her own nipples while he watched, his eyes going wide when she pinched. Before he could react, she moved her hand down to the damp red curls between her legs and touched herself there, too, making sure he could see.

“Come on,” she said, surprised at the tease in her voice. “You told me you never walk away from challenges.”

“Never.” He grabbed her wrists and pulled her to the mat with him, holding her hands above her head as he settled on top of her. The sudden move caught her off guard and made her heart pound in the most delicious way as he stared at her, his eyes going dark and heavy with desire.

Captive …

“Can you take what I have to give?” he asked, sounding serious and five steps past dangerous.

His challenge right back to her—and his was better. She felt every word, in all the places that mattered. “Yes.”

He moved his knee between her legs, hitting her sweet spot and making her moan.

“You sure about that, Camille?”

She couldn’t breathe. How could she speak? He kept up the pressure, moving his knee back and forth, making her buck from the exquisite pressure, and she knew he wouldn’t stop until she said something or exploded, whichever came first.

“Positive,” she said, a rasp, not really a word at all.

John kept her hands trapped and kissed her so fiercely Camille thought she might never recover. His knee kept moving, his jeans sliding against her sex, rough and fast. Her pulse pounded and more warm shivers shook her. Already building. How was that possible?

“You’re mine now,” John said, and then his mouth claimed her so completely she couldn’t argue.

He eased the pressure between her legs, refusing her any release as his lips traveled from her mouth to her jaw and lower, tracing and nibbling, letting his stubbled chin brush across her skin. She groaned at the fire of his teeth on her flesh, biting her neck, biting what ached, all the way down to her chest, to the top of her breasts. Her nipples throbbed, waiting, waiting, but he was taking his time.

“I asked for this, didn’t I?” She said that through her teeth even though she tried to sound casual.

His only response was a laugh—and more waiting.

Camille twisted against his grip, pressing her breasts closer to his mouth, but John wouldn’t let her free. Her breathing got faster and faster, and she tried again to push toward what she wanted.

John chuckled against her nipple, keeping his lips closed, and the vibration doubled the heat at Camille’s center.

“Impatient, aren’t we.” He kissed the tip of her breast. She moaned from the contact, straining toward him, and mercy came. His mouth found her aching nipple and fastened on, sucking deeply. When his tongue raked against the tight, beaded flesh, Camille cried out, wishing he would touch her between her legs—or let her touch herself.

“I need you,” she whispered, not even able to play games.

He heard her. She knew because he bit down harder on the nipple, driving her half insane.

Camille arched off the mat as he sucked her other nipple, then kissed every inch of her breasts, nipping and biting just to make her scream.

Begging seemed like a good idea, but Camille was way past words, way past caring about anything but John and what she wanted him to do. She begged him with her body, with every move she made, pleading with him to touch her where she craved.

Too wild, with her hands trapped like this, her body naked and at his mercy, and damn him, he took his time, kissing each inch of her at his leisure. His teeth, his tongue, his lips covered her belly, licking rises and hollows, nipping freckles and dimples. He even used the dinar, moving the steadily humming chain and coin back and forth across her breasts, doubling the heat that was already making her give off sparks.

“You still sure?” he murmured, teasing her lower curls with his mouth.

“Yes.” She moved her wrists against his palms. If he let her go, she’d hit him. “Yes, yes!”

John turned her wrists loose, but before she could react, he pushed her legs open and sank three fingers knuckle-deep in her wet, pounding channel.

Camille lost it, thrashing as she climaxed almost instantly, sensations bursting through her like chain-reaction explosions. She raised her hips to meet his thrusts and grabbed for his hair, but he had already moved his head lower. A second later, he ran his tongue across her swollen center.

She jerked and groaned, trapped in a whole new way, captive to the skill of his hands, his mouth, and she hit the top again before she could even catch her breath from the first time. Everything in her body turned red-hot, sensitized, and she had to sit up.

He raised himself with her, settling on his knees, locking eyes with her as he used his free hand to pull her hips onto his thighs. He never stopped moving his fingers, pushing them deeper, keeping rhythm, making her suck air with each plunge.

“You win,” she said between thrusts. “I have to have you. Now, John, please. Now.”

And this time he didn’t make her wait very long. He shifted her to the mat and came out of his clothes. In a matter of seconds he was back, positioning her beneath him, rubbing himself against her pulsing, ready opening.

So big
. She knew that, but feeling him again—
damn
.

He went slow on the first stroke even though she was aroused, careful even at the height of excitement.

With a deep sigh of satisfaction, Camille lifted her hips to take him. “Yes, ah, Goddess, that’s it.” She wrapped her legs around him and held him for a moment, savoring how he filled her, trusting him with every sensation and emotion, and needing so much more. Then she let go of everything and opened her legs wide, taking every inch, trying to let him know how fast and how hard she wanted him.

John took her cue and plunged deep, as deep as she could stand, and she screamed in triumph. This was what she wanted, what she absolutely had to have. She felt herself catch fire inside, burning, burning, and all around them the smoke started to rise. The coin around her neck bounced and hummed, going still only when it touched both of them at the same time.

“More,” she demanded. Camille couldn’t get enough of him. She raised her hips and met him with force, and still he went deeper.

“More, please.”

With a growl, he pumped into her, pulling her hips to meet him, again, again, again, making them one body, one need, until fire covered her skin and his skin, only the dinar saving him from going up in smoke.

This time when she reached the top, she flew like a phoenix, rising high, heading for the sun, then burning in perfect, soul-soothing flames all the way back down to earth again. She lay in his arms, letting her tears stream for a time. Release. Total relaxation. Absolute pleasure. He gave her everything, and then they shared it until neither of them had anything left at all.

It’s definitely supposed to be this way
, she thought.
I don’t want anything else ever again
.